The Coming of the Empire
by Jenavira
Summary: Interesting alliances are being made across galaxies as Jedi and telepaths team up against Imperials and Centauri.... Star Wars crossover; complete.
1. Part 1

**The Coming of the Empire**  
**Disclaimer:** B5 belongs to Joe and SciFi; Star Wars belongs to George and Lucasfilm. I'm only having fun.  
**Author's Notes:** This is set sometime in the third season of Babylon 5; let's not look to closely to see exactly where. ;) It's also set just after the X-Wing novel "Starfighters of Adumar" in the Star Wars universe, and that probably tracks better. It is, for the most part, sheer fun; this is the first fanfic I ever started writing, and thanks to my inherent procrastinator, it's taken me four years to finish. Enjoy.  
  


Leia was—once again—settled at her desk in her "official" office, nearly hidden behind the stacks of datacards and holochips that required her immediate attention. She sighed to herself. She'd swear that they'd been multiplying; there couldn't have been nearly that many this morning! 

Suddenly there came a knock on the door. The President of the New Republic Senate smiled to herself; she knew of only one person who would knock on the door rather than using the chime, but she felt obliged to give him some grief anyway. "My immediate attention is occupied for the next six weeks; go away."

The door opened and a tall, rugged-looking man stalked in. He wore a hurt expression. "Hey, your Highnessness, no time even for me?"

"I didn't know Security let people like you down this wing," she teased as she came around the desk to give him a kiss. 

"Very funny, Your Worship." He knew she hated being called that. He glanced at her desk, then back at her. Leia braced herself for the coming lecture. "You're working too hard again," Han told her.

Leia sighed and pulled away from him, shaking her head. "Not this again. You know I need to work on this. The ambassadors…"

Han held up a hand to stop the tirade. He was used to this speech. "How much of this needs done now?" he demanded. 

Leia smiled. "About half."

"And how much of that could be done by somebody else?"

"Most of it, but, Han…"

"No buts," he insisted, taking hold of her arms and pulling her away from the desk. "I am taking you on a vacation." Leia looked skeptical, but her husband insisted. "No, really. I've been thinking about this for a while. We'll get Luke to come along, and Lando too if he can get off." Here he smirked his smuggler's grin. "I'll even bring Goldenrod if you want me to."

Leia's skeptical look hadn't gone away, but he really seemed excited about this. "You are determined to do this, aren't you," she asked.

"Yes." When he was that stubborn, there was no arguing with him. Leia sighed.

"Well, I suppose I could take a day or two…"

"Great!" He clapped his hands together and headed for the door. " We'll leave tomorrow. I gotta go work on the _Falcon_."

"Tomorrow?" she said in surprise, but he had already left.

* * * *

An electrical crackling filled the room as the two lightsabers met again, responding to a violent chop from the one on the right. The blue and green glows were the only light, and the strange shadows they cast made everything look eerie. The expressions on the faces of the two Jedi were hard set and determined.

Suddenly the woman with the blue saber broke the body-to-body and lunged to the right, deactivating her saber as she went and knocking the man a heavy blow to the back of the knees with her lightsaber handle. He didn't recover from his fall as quickly as she did, and a moment later she was on her feet and had the point of her reactivated saber at the back of his neck.

"Well, Skywalker?" she asked, her voice light and calm.

"Not bad," Luke Skywalker answered, his voice muffled by the dirt floor, "but I don't think it qualifies as a victory if you have to resort to old Imperial tricks to bring me down." Mara Jade, former Emperor's Hand and now leader of the Smuggler's Alliance, scowled at him and shifted the point of her saber down a fraction. He didn't even flinch. "Do you mind?" he asked. "This is beginning to get uncomfortable."

Mara deactivated her lightsaber again and returned it to her belt, and Luke rolled over onto his back and then sat up, rubbing his knees. "That was a good trick, though," he commented as Mara collapsed into a half-lotus position on the floor. "I'll have to remember that."

"Thanks," she said dryly. " I learned that one from a Mistryl fighter. Then I learned not to mess with the Mistryl, unless I was big on visiting the med center."

Luke grinned. "Speaking of vacations… Leia's been working too hard again, and Han has invited everyone on a little getaway trip."

"Everyone? Including me?" Mara asked. She was wondering why Han would invite her anywhere.

"Sure. You've been working too hard, too. The Alliance can get along without you for a week," he replied. The Alliance he'd mentioned was the Smuggler's Alliance, put together by Mara and Talon Kaarde shortly after the Thrawn incident.

"Who's coming?" she asked, sounding slightly suspicious.

"Well," Luke replied, "Han and Leia, of course, myself, you, if you'll come along, Chewie, Lando…"

"Calrissian?" Mara sounded disgusted.

"He's not that bad…" Luke said. "Han's even agreed to let Artoo and Threepio come along."

"You're kidding." Mara smirked. "The day he lets that droid back on his ship without shooting him is the day the Empire starts signing peace treaties." Then she stopped, and looked at Luke for a while. He gazed back at her, his pale blue eyes calm and steady. Finally she sighed. "I might as well come along. I've got nothing else to be doing, nothing serious anyway. And maybe you're right—a vacation might do me some good." The she unfolded from her seat on the dirt floor and headed out of the practice room, once again leaving Luke only wondering what she was thinking.

* * * *

The Imperial Star Destroyer Black Jewel hovered menacingly over K6, a desolate rock of a planet in the Kessel system, so insignificant it was denied even a proper name. The huge, dark form of the ISD cast a shadow over the rocky surface, nearly eclipsing the hot sun, and three squadrons of TIE fighters hovered close by to defend the ship. To any enemy of the Empire, it was an ominous view. 

To Admiral Pellaeon, however, it was a very welcome sight. It was, to him, a sign of order—the stronghold of the only Imperial officer who had not gone mad, it seemed. The only surviving Imperial Grand Admiral—Grand Admiral Marin Feroon.

Only a standard week earlier, the Grand Admiral had sent Pellaeon a message, acknowledging the Admiral's association with Thrawn and requesting that he meet him at his Star Destroyer within a week, if Pellaeon would be interested in his plan. A plan which Feroon was _absolutely certain_ would exterminate the Rebels. So, here he was—taking a personally issued Lambda-class shuttle from his own transport to the huge white bulk before him.

Once his shuttle docked, Pellaeon was escorted to the Grand Admiral's quarters by two silent, uniformed stormtroopers. Upon reaching the door, one of the troopers keyed in a passcode and the door hissed open. Pellaeon stood at the threshold, nervous, until a middle-ranged male voice called out, "Enter."

Pellaeon stepped through the doorway, and the door hissed shut behind him, making him jump. He reprimanded himself silently—how many years now had he been living with these doors?—and moved forward. The room was dark, the only illumination coming from a holographic star map hovering to one side of a large desk carved of Ithorian wood. Seated at that desk, the pale light playing eerily over his features, was Grand Admiral Marin Feroon.

He was a tall man, almost two meters in height, with a narrow build and dark, blue-black hair. His eyes were a startling bright green, and tilted inwards just noticeably, giving him an almost feline appearance. Pellaeon suppressed a shudder; this was the first time he'd met the Admiral face to face and he was, in his own way, almost as menacing as Thrawn.

Feroon did not rise as Pellaeon entered the room and moved closer to the desk; rather, he stayed seated and looked as if this little man approaching him amused him. It was not until Pellaeon had reached the usual debriefing position before the desk that he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. It was a bit shorter than an average human male; other than that, Pellaeon could distinguish nothing. However, his attention was drawn back to the Grand Admiral when Feroon began to speak.

"Admiral Pellaeon, how good of you to come," he announced in a silky, dark voice. "It is an honor to meet the man who served so well under my…counterpart." Something in Feroon's voice suggested that he had something else he wanted to call Thrawn—something far less complimentary.

"It is a greater honor for me to make the acquaintance of another of the Emperor's most trusted officials," Pellaeon replied smoothly.

Feroon grimaced. " 'Trusted.' The Emperor trusted no one. Not even Darth Vader, for he knew that the only thing that held us to him was fear and love of power. Say, rather, powerful—he gave us power, not trust." Then he sighed. "Be that as it may, the Emperor is dead, and the glory days of the Empire are gone from this galaxy. But I, Admiral—" and here his eyes began to gleam "—I have found somewhere where we can bring them back. That is why I have summoned you here, Giliad Pellaeon. Because I believe you can help me to bring back the Empire." Feroon, who had half risen and leaned over his desk during this inspired speech, sat back down and relaxed in his chair. His voice became quiet again as he said, "There is some one I would like you to meet."

The figure in the shadows stepped into the light, and Pellaeon studied the alien. For the most part, he looked human. He was even shorter than Pellaeon had surmised, for his hair, molded into an arc above his head, added a good dozen centimeters to his height. He held his chin high, and his expression was one probably more commonly seen on a protocol droid.

"This is Lord Refa," Feroon announced," of a race known as the Centauri, inhabiting sections of the Unknown Regions. He is a high-ranking…individual…in the Centauri Royal Court." Refa's chin rose even more at the description of his exalted position.

"The…Unknown Regions?" questioned Pellaeon. The Unknown Regions were just that—unknown and unexplored. There were no charts, no maps; anyone venturing into such an area risked becoming permanently abandoned in the case of a hyperdrive failure. Grand Admiral Thrawn had been phenomenally lucky in his return from his exile there.

As if he'd been reading the Admiral's thoughts, Feroon replied, "Of course. Did you know, Admiral, that your great and glorious Thrawn was not exiled to the Unknown Regions?" Feroon smiled lazily at Pellaeon's shocked expression. "No, he was not exiled. Thrawn was sent—sent by the Emperor himself—to map the regions so that the Empire might expand to include this as well. The first inhabited world he encountered was Centauri Prime, and he met with their emperor. He then traveled deeper into the sector, and encountered the Narn Homeworld, populated by a backwater race enslaved by the Centauri; Minbar, the home of a race of religious fanatics; and worlds such as Epsilon, Mars, Vega, colonized by Earth." Here Feroon paused for emphasis. "By Humans."

Pellaeon had to stifle a gasp. "Humans…but…that's not possible…not that far into…"

"But I assure you, Admiral, it is," Lord Refa interrupted. It was the first time he had spoken, and his voice matched his face; he had a protocol droid's nasal tones. When he opened his mouth, Pellaeon could also see that his teeth had pointed tips. "The Humans have expanded far from their once pitiful little planet to having taken over the entire Sol System. They couldn't even design their own hyperspace technology; it was the Centauri who gave it to them." Then Feroon glared at him, and Refa almost physically shrank back.

"But where did the Humans come from?" Pellaeon wanted to know.

"It is not important where they came from," Feroon replied quickly. "What is important is the fact that, thanks to the Centauri's unique hyperspace technology, we now have nearly a quarter of the galaxy ripe for the picking. The Empire can—no, is destined to—expand into the no-longer Unknown Regions and escape the sway of this Rebellion disguised as a New Republic. What I need to know now, Admiral, is…are you with us?"

Pellaeon gulped, stared at the Grand Admiral for a moment, then said, "Yes, sir. I'm with you."

* * * *

"Han, I can't believe you let Lando talk you into this," Leia complained as the _Falcon_ swerved suddenly, dodging another asteroid.

"Talk me into what?" the ex-smuggler retorted. "I _wanted_ to do this. And besides, he was right, I needed the practice."

"Practice. Flying the Kessel Run is practice?" Luke murmured under his breath. Han shot him a glare, then turned back to the viewscreen just in time to dodge another asteroid. A thump and a curse issued from the cabin behind. 

"Solo, if you make me lose my balance one more time, I swear I'll toss you out the airlock and fly this Sith-posessed ship myself!" Luke smiled as he recognized Mara's angry tones; he just hoped she wasn't mad enough to be serious.

Half of a brain-jarring, bone-rattling hour later, the Milennium Falcon finally emerged from the last of the asteroids. Han leaned back in the pilot's chair, put his hands behind his head, and yelled back his victory to his friend, who was playing holochess with R2 and losing. 

"Not bad," Lando commented as he moved into the cockpit and checked the chronometer, "but I still think you could've run it a little faster than that."

"Yeah," Han retorted, "like when I'm not weighed down by six extra people! Face it, Lando, I ran it—and faster than you ever have in my _Falcon_."

"Your _Falcon_? Hey, buddy, she was mine to begin with."

"Would you overgrown ten-year-olds shut up in there," Mara yelled, stalking into the cockpit. She was holding a deactivated lightsaber. Han had to suppress a grin; apparently she was doing about as well with the training remote as the kid had the first time around. Suddenly she froze, half through the doorway, staring out the front viewscreen. "What in the worlds is that?"

Han and Lando both turned to look, and what they saw surprised them as much as it had Mara. What would have been a few kilometers away, except that there is no linear distance in space, was a huge, orange, swirling…thing. An anomaly, to give it a proper name. Somehow, through it's very presence, it seemed to be waiting. 

It was more the sudden silence than the shouts of exclamation that followed that brought Luke and Leia to the cockpit. They were as shocked as everyone else when they saw the phenomenon. It was a good five or ten minutes before anyone realized that the _Falcon_, which should have been stationary, was slowly drifting towards the anomaly. And naturally, by the time they noticed it was too late. 

"Come on Han, do something!" Leia exclaimed. She was getting more than a little nervous, which threw everyone off, because she was supposed to be the stable one.

"I'm tryin'!" Han snapped back. "Chewie?" The Wookiee roared something unintelligible back and Han shook his head. "We're stuck."

"A tractor beam?" Lando asked hopefully.

Han shook his head again. "Acting more like gravity." He paused, then said quietly, "It doesn't look like a black hole." 

Everyone was silent for a moment, and in the unnatural quiet, they could hear the prissy tones of Threepio's voice in the background—"Whatever it is, I'm sure it must be your fault."

* * * *

C&C was nervous. Everybody, from Lieutenant Corwin on down, had been on edge all day—the commander had not slept well, and she had had no coffee this morning. Any errors or arguments were not likely to be accepted well.

Suddenly, Ivanova's voice called out over the center, "Captain on the bridge." Everyone snapped to attention. When the commander was in a formal mood, no one argued. 

"As you were," Sheridan said, and after a moment, everyone returned to their duties. "A little tense today, Commander?" he asked Ivanova.

"You would be too if you've had the kind of day I've had," she shot back. "Garibaldi pulled up my coffee plant! I can't believe he did that!"

Sheridan tried to hide a smirk. "Well, it was growing there illegally, you know. It's his job to deal with things like that."

"Yeah, well, I'm still having the cost of importing my coffee billed to his account."

Sheridan grinned and shook his head. "Has anything else interesting been going on while I was playing diplomat with Londo?" he asked, trying to change the subject before he burst out laughing; whatever the doctors said, laughter wouldn't be healthy right now.

"Not really," Ivanova answered, "but there's a strange feeling around, like something's going to happen. You know what I mean?"

Sheridan nodded; he knew about Ivanova's latent telepathy, and he trusted her hunches. Besides, Ivanova was the kind of person whose hunches you trusted.

Suddenly one of the ensigns exclaimed in a surprised voice, "There's something coming through the jumpgate!"

"But there's nothing scheduled until afternoon," Ivanova protested, but none of their objections changed the fact that a ship of unknown design and specification was decelerating out of the jumpgate.

* * * *

After being sucked into the phenomenon, the _Falcon_ had kept along at a good pace, surrounded by a swirl of bright red-and-black marbled space. Nothing else had happened; they'd been travelling for two hours, and everyone was bored.

Somehow this new situation seemed to promote boredom more than ordinary hyperspace. At the moment, Han and Leia were sitting silently in the cockpit, Luke was meditating, Mara and Lando were having a half-hearted verbal sparring match, and Chewie was playing holochess with Threepio—without dismembering the droid. It seemed that all anyone could do was sit around and wait for something to happen. 

Then the hyperspace alarm went off.

Han just sat and stared at it for a while; what did it think it was doing? They weren't in hyperspace, so how could they be coming out of it?

"What's going on?" asked Leia, suddenly alert.

Han just shook his head. "The _Falcon_ thinks we're coming out of hyperspace."

"But we're not in hyperspace," Leia protested. 

"Tell that to the ship," Han retorted. "It's acting like we're coming out of hyperspace, but I honestly don't know what I'm going to do about it."

"Agree with it," ventured a voice from behind him. Han turned around quickly; it was Luke, shaken from his meditations by the commotion in the cockpit.

"Whaddaya mean, agree with it?" Han objected, still trying to figure out what was malfunctioning and where, and how he was going to fix it this time.

"Go along with it," Luke explained. "Decelerate, fix the inertial dampeners, whatever you do when you come out of hyperspace."

Han looked at the kid like he was crazy.  
"Well, it can't hurt anything," Luke said.

Unfortunately, the crazy kid had a point.

Thirty seconds later, the _Falcon_ did come out of hyperspace, only a kilometer or two from a huge space station. Everybody was in the cockpit now, and things were getting very cramped, but nobody seemed to notice as they stood and watched and wondered what had happened.

Just then a flotilla of snubfighters, similar in design to X-wings, launched out of the station and towards them. "Oh, someone to greet us," announced Threepio cheerily. It was the first thing he'd said in hours, probably because he'd been trying to avoid being switched off for most of the trip.

"They don't look quite that friendly," Han commented sarcastically as they took up an attack formation that surrounded the _Falcon_ completely. He barked a couple of orders at Chewie, who was by now back in the copilot's seat, and began powering up the forward weapons systems.

"Han, don't you think…" Leia objected, but Han interrupted her.

"Listen, sweetheart," Han retorted, but he was cut off by an exasperated Mara.

"Why don't you just save us all some time and turn on the comm system?" She glared at him like he was a complete and utter idiot. Han looked slightly abashed.

Lando backed her up, obviously trying to get back on her good side, if he was ever there at all. "She's got a point, Han. If those ships are as much like X-wings as they look, the _Falcon_ won't hold together for very long."

Han glared at Lando, but switched on the comm and fiddled with the frequency until something came through, however faint.

It was a woman's voice. "…forced to take drastic measures. Repeat, this is Commander Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5 to unidentified ship, please identify yourself. Babylon Control to unidentified vessel, request you identify yourself immediately or we may be forced to attack." Her voice sounded strained, but not frightened. In fact, she sounded perfectly ready to blow them straight to hell.

Nobody in the _Falcon's_ cockpit moved. Mara waited a few seconds, then snorted in exasperation, and leaned over and flipped on the "send" switch. "Babylon Control, this is the New Republic Vessel Milennium Falcon; we apologize for the intrusion; we've been having some slight…problems." The glare she shot behind her left most wondering whether she meant the anomaly or the men; Leia had her bet on the men.

"Understood," came back the commander's voice through the comm, "and no offense taken. Would you care to come aboard?"

Mara eyed the docking entrance warily, and replied, "Sure, we'll do our best."

"Docking bay 14. We'll send an escort down to greet you; the captain would like a word."

"Understood. _Falcon_ out."

Han glared at Mara for a while, and Mara simply glared back, her arms crossed under her breasts, waiting for him to accuse her of something. Finally he just snapped, "Don't mess with my ship again," and turned to the controls. Mara stalked out, and Luke started to follow her, but Leia stopped him and went after her herself. Luke decided to stay in the cockpit and see how Han handled the docking situation. From the looks of things, Lando had the same idea; he was standing in the entrance, his trademark long cape filling the doorway, grinning at his old friend. 

Han wasn't paying any attention to them; he had problems of his own. _How in the name of the Emperor's black heart am I supposed to dock in that? It's _ spinning! Of course, the _Falcon_ had spun before, but never for that length of time. Still, that didn't mean it was impossible. He just hoped the inertial dampeners would hold up. Chewie rumbled a question about the approach and he replied, "Yeah, I think she can pull it off. You fixed the inertial dampeners, right?" The Wookiee's response was not as positive as he would have liked. "Well, they'll just have to work," Han told his copilot.

Thankfully, they did, but as the _Falcon_ maneuvered itself carefully into Bay 14, the only thought running through his mind was _"Why does the sith-possessed station have to spin in the first place?"_

* * * *

The first to disembark from the ship was a huge, furry…something. It looked like nothing any of the welcoming party of Zack Allen, Michael Garibaldi, and Lyta Alexander had ever seen before. It was followed closely by a tall, scruffy-looking man who seemed likely to be the pilot; a tall redhead with a gun on one hip and what looked almost like a Minbari fighting pike on the other; and a black man of middle height and gaudy fashion sense. Behind them was the woman who looked to be the leader of the party; despite the combat fatigues she was wearing, she had the bearing of a noblewoman. The last member of the party was a blond man, wearing a long cloak and a weapon similar to that of the redhead. He was accompanied by what must have been prototype androids; one looked like a golden version of the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz, and the other looked like a trashcan. The entire arrangement must have been arranged that way for one purpose—it was impressive.

As far as Zack was concerned, it was working. He really hadn't been prepared for an alien, and was immensely relieved when he saw the humans walking behind it. As he glanced around, he noticed Garibaldi having much the same reaction. Lyta was calm and unconcerned, as usual. 

Before the new arrivals got within hearing distance, Zack leaned over to Garibaldi and muttered, "Chief?"

"Yeah, I know," Babylon 5's head of security answered. "I can deal with the guys and the guns, but that…walking bear rug…"

"Tell me about it," Zack answered, and then they were forced to abandon their conversation, for the woman that had come fifth in line out of the ship had managed to come to stand directly in front of them.

She wasn't particularly tall, but her presence—and her dark-eyed gaze—were almost intimidating. Although she wore old combat fatigues and her brown hair was wound in braids around her head, when she announced, "I am Leia Organa-Solo, President of the Senate of the New Republic. I insist we be taken to someone in charge of this station," no one had any reason to disbelieve or disagree with her. 

Garibaldi wasn't as easily impressed as his second—at least not as visibly so. He watched the other members of the party expectantly. They watched him back. When it became obvious that none of them were going to speak, he turned his gaze back to the woman who had introduced herself as Leia Organa-Solo. 

"And I'm Michael Garibaldi, chief of Babylon 5 security, and this is Zack Allen, my second; and Lyta Alexander, our resident telepath," he introduced. The blond man seemed startled at the "telepath" and turned his head slightly to study Lyta, who ignored him.

Organa-Solo inclined her head gracefully and waited for someone to take the lead. Garibaldi didn't move. Finally Zack, followed closely by Lyta, headed off in the direction of Sheridan's office. Garibaldi stayed at the end of the pack, near the living Sasquatch and two androids. 

The garbage can beeped at him, and the golden one offered a hand and said, "Hello sir. I am C-3PO, human-cyborg relations, and this is my counterpart R2-D2. I…"

"Stuff it, Goldenrod," interrupted the tall, scruffy-looking, brown-haired man whom Garibaldi had taken for a pilot-for-hire. Then the man turned to Garibaldi. "Sorry about that—Leia, I mean. She gets like that sometimes." He offered a hand. "Han Solo."

Garibaldi took it. "Her husband?" he asked. Han nodded. "Sorry."

"Don't worry, I'm used to it," Han replied with a grin.

"You the pilot of that thing?" Garibaldi asked, nodding his head back toward the docking bay.

"Yeah, the Milennium Falcon. She's an old one, but she holds together." He sounded proud of his old junker of a ship.

"A smuggler, right?" At Han's nod, he continued. "I thought so. She looked too modified to be anything else. We don't have much trouble with smugglers here, but during the war, we used 'em to transport troops and supplies in Minbar space."

"Minbari?" Han asked.

"You'll see," Garibaldi assured him with a grin.

* * * *

"Mr. Bester, I hope this isn't going to take very long; I have things I need to attend to." Captain John Sheridan of Babylon 5 was not having a productive day. That ship coming through the jumpgate unannounced had evidently been carrying very important people—he didn't know from where—and they were supposed to be showing up any minute. He had to get Bester out before that happened.

"Of course, Captain. I just thought I might inform you of an interesting…situation." The psi-cop turned around to face the captain, his black-gloved hands still clasped behind his back. "Did you know that you have telepaths on this station? Unregistered telepaths?" Sheridan must have looked surprised, because he continued describing them. "Two, possibly three, only one a man." Bester turned back to the window. "They arrived not a standard hour ago."

Sheridan was surprised, but he was determined not to show it. Not to a psi-cop. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

Bester turned around again, staring into the captain's eyes with that all-knowing look that telepaths have. He looked almost as if he were trying to will the dampers out of operation. Sheridan kept his face blank. "I want you to turn them over to me, of course. Unrestricted telepaths are a danger to normals…" Bester started on his usual speech, but Sheridan cut him off. He was sick of listening to Psi Corp lies.

"That's not why you want them, and you know it. You want another chance to subvert innocent people into your conspiracy, and I won't have it. Not on my station." Some part of Sheridan's brain realized that he was yelling, but he was too annoyed to care. "At any rate, they're out of your jurisdiction; they're not even in my jurisdiction; and I want you and your slimy Psi Corp principles off my station in the next half hour, or I'll put you somewhere where you'll end up in the middle of a firefight between the Centauri and the Narn!"

Bester, as usual, was calm and ineffable. "Very well, Captain. I'll be going now. I wouldn't want to…inconvenience you any further. I wish you luck in your negotiations, Captain Sheridan. Be seeing you." With a nod and an almost-salute, the psi-cop left with such dignity that it could be wondered whether he was leading the security officer or that the security officer was leading him.

Sheridan settled back in his chair and closed his eyes. It had been a long day—and it was going to be even longer before it was done.


	2. Part 2

Pellaeon was apprehensive about the entire situation; he did not approve of the Empire allying itself with aliens. However, Feroon had assured him that this time he would be meeting with a Human – from this "Earth," actually. As added insurance (a fact that more than slightly irritated Pellaeon), Feroon sent along his bridge captain to the meetings. Pellaeon held nothing but disdain for the man; he was far too young to remember the glory days of the Empire, and far too spineless to be of any real help. Undoubtedly Feroon had chosen him for exactly those reasons – like Thrawn, he feared being overthrown or undermined. 

Today they were also joined by another esteemed Imperial: the infamous Baron Soontir Fel, of the 181st TIE squadron. Pellaeon was nervous about being in such close proximity to such a lethal man, but then, Pellaeon was nervous about a lot of things lately.

When they reached the meeting room, Refa and the new ambassador were waiting for them. Pellaeon was taken aback; usually the Imperials were the first to arrive. The new arrival was human, as he had been assured, and he had a stance and a smile that the Admiral had usually associated with lesser Imperial warlords, and Pellaeon immediately categorized him as so. The admiral also had the feeling that he could be too easily underestimated; from the expression on Baron Fel's face, he had the same opinion. Fel obviously didn't think much of Refa, though.

Pellaeon had always assumed that, due to Refa's title, the little Centauri was in charge of ambassadorial duties, but this illusion was shattered when the man known as Morden began the conversation. "Welcome, gentlemen. I appreciate that you agreed to meet with me on such short notice. My associates thank you."

"It was no trouble at all," assured a slightly flustered Captain Torell. Pellaeon could understand his uncertainty. There was something about this man that he mistrusted. Yes, very like Warlord Zinj indeed.

"Your…associates?" asked Fel in a tone that tried to sound disinterested and nearly failed. 

Morden's perky smile faltered for a moment, then returned, just as cheerful but slightly more sinister than before. "Why, yes," Morden said. "In fact, that's why I was sent here. My associates appreciate your goals, and hold similar ones themselves. We would like to…help you."

"If your 'associates' have the same goals as we do, why help us at all?" Pellaeon wanted to know.

"Well, it's very simple, really," Morden replied. "Neither of us alone have the power to control an entire galaxy, but together and with the added support of the Centauri Republic…"  
"The galaxy can be subdivided three ways," Refa interjected. "The Centauri will be happy with what we controlled then years ago, before the Narns staged their rebellion. The rest…is up to you."

Morden, Refa, Pellaeon, and Fel surveyed each other over the top of the council table. Each saw in the others a fool, a weak idiot, convinced he would be safe under the power of others; and each was convinced that this would be a very profitable alliance, indeed.

^ ^ ^

John Sheridan's office was getting rather full, and it was going to get much worse soon. Already, Ivanova, Franklin, and Sheridan were there, and thanks to a request from Corwin, Delenn, Londo, and G'Kar had joined them. Marcus, who had been in a meeting with Delenn, had also insisted on coming. Garibaldi and Lyta would show up soon with the new arrivals.

The Captain hadn't told anyone else about what he'd found out about the shipful of visitors – what Corwin had told him. He went over the file again in his mind. "Star Wars." George Lucas. Mark Hammil, Carrie Fisher, Harrison Ford. Science fiction, emphasis on the 'fiction'. And yet, there it was – the _Millennium Falcon,_ a ship that should only exist in a scale model about a foot wide. And it was in Bay 12. Even as he tried to absorb the absurdity of the situation, he wondered about the wisdom of putting it so close to Kosh's ship. Before he could finish the thought, Lyta entered, followed closely by a small woman wearing worn-out combat fatigues.

Sheridan assessed the people facing him. It was remarkable what a good casting job Lucas had managed. They weren't exact, of course – the Wookiee didn't look quite as much like a guy wearing a fur rug, and Solo was missing Ford's trademark scar – but it was close. He figured on about a 90% accuracy rate. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Marcus doing a creditable fish impression. He inwardly relished the sight of the usually well-composed Ranger in a state of such shock.

Then he turned his attention back to the Jedi. "Welcome to Babylon 5," he said, displaying his trademark cheerful grin. "We're honored to have you here. I'm Captain John Sheridan, and this is my command staff – Commander Susan Ivanova, Doctor Stephen Franklin, and I believe you've met Mr. Garibaldi, our security chief." Each of the former Earthforce officers nodded politely as he named them; Garibaldi added a scowl at Organa-Solo.

"And these are our ambassadors – Londo Mollari of the Centauri Republic, G'Kar of the Narn Regime, and Delenn of the Minbari Federation." In response, Londo grinned and raised his ever-present wineglass, G'Kar gave a distinctly disinterested nod, and Delenn presented them with a beaming smile before introducing Marcus. 

"He is one of the Anla'shok," she told them, "the Rangers, dedicated to serving the Army of Light." After a slight pause, she added, "I believe you have a similar organization where you come from?"

Sheridan gave her a surprised look – how did she know that? – but the blond man (Luke Skywalker, he reminded himself) was already answering.

"Yes, the Jedi…well, they're growing. Very few are left after the reign of the Emperor. We're still trying to find a way of successfully searching out those that are left, and those that could be trained."

Now Leia stepped up and began to speak. As she made the introductions, Sheridan allowed his train of thought to wander back to the fictional source of these people. He noticed that one of the travelers, Master Trader Mara Jade, by introduction, was not included in any of the information he'd gathered. He reminded himself to check on this later. 

He also amused himself by watching his crew's reactions – Ivanova jumped a little at the name Skywalker, and got a grin from Garibaldi at her shock. Franklin was gazing intently at the Wookiee – Chewbacca – as if he'd really like permission to do a full medical once-over. Sheridan doubted that he'd be allowed.

He glanced down at the screen on his desk, noticing that a cluster of quarters had been found in Red Sector that would most likely be appropriate. "I'm sorry we can't be more hospitable at the moment," he told the visitors, "but we've been having something of a problem around here lately…"

"Something of a war!" G'Kar interrupted loudly. 

"Oh, shut up," Londo told him. "Pay no attention to him; he's only a Narn, and not even a proper Ambassador."

"Only a Narn indeed!" G'Kar retaliated. "You have no right to talk, you Centauri and your mass drivers and your…your associates!"

"Gentlemen, please!" Sheridan protested. "This is not the time or place for your arguments, and if you wish to continue, I'll have Mr. Garibaldi escort you to the nearest airlock, where you can't irritate anyone else!" He turned to Leia. "I'm sorry about this…"

"That's all right; it happens in the Senate every day," she replied in an amused tone. 

"Right," Sheridan said with a half-grin. "Well, I'll have someone get you to your quarters…" he glanced up and around and Marcus gave a quick nod. "Red 5 and 6," he said, handing over a datapad.

Marcus rose, gave a slight bow and headed off in that direction. Leia, Luke, Mara, Lando, and finally Han and Chewbacca followed him. 

Once they had all left, Sheridan collapsed at his desk and stared at his papers for a few moments before he finally realized that the others were still staring at him. He raised his head slowly, half afraid of what would happen. 

"Well, John, do you want to explain this?" Ivanova asked.

"Yes, Captain, I too would like an explanation," added G'Kar. 

Sheridan sighed. It seemed he was never going to get a break.

^ ^ ^

Marcus had gotten nearly everyone to their quarters and was taking the lift up a level with Luke and Mara, casting them occasional nervous glances. Despite the many complaints about Mark Hammill's acting, he was thinking, Lucas really had done an admirable casting job. Unless Skywalker looked like that **because** of Mark Hammill…

Marcus cut off that thought quickly. That was the path to infinite recursion, and he just wasn't ready for that now.

Finally, it seemed that Mara just couldn't take it any more. "What _is_ your problem? Have I suddenly grown a third eye?" Marcus jumped a little, having to pull himself back to reality – and, realizing it _wasn't_ Ivanova who'd snapped at him, his grip on whatever reality still existed was lost.

"No…just trying to save the casting director some work…" he replied vaguely.

Mara sighed expansively, casting her eyes to the ceiling. "I give up, everyone here is completely insane! It wasn't even this bad in the Empire!"

"Not exactly…"

"Well, there's got to be some explanation for why everyone is acting so uncomfortable…" Luke muttered to himself.

"Exactly!" Marcus exclaimed, seeing an excuse to explain the situation. "'Star Wars'". 

"What?" His two companions looked totally lost.

"'Star Wars'. It was a movie in the mid-to-late twentieth century; a big epic good-vs. -evil kind of thing." As he could see that this was not clearing anything up, he went on to the plot. "It was set on Tatooine – well, sort of - it moved to Yavin for the first Death Star battle, and sort of went from there." Right then the lift doors opened and Marcus headed down the hall. When he realized that the two Jedi weren't following him, he turned and looked at them expectantly. "Well?"  
"You're insane," Mara said again as she grabbed Luke's arm and practically drug the astonished Jedi Master out of the lift and after Marcus.

"So I've been told," Marcus replied casually. "And your point?" Mara just kept on glaring at him, and Luke gave him a rather helpless but still intrigued look.

"So basically, everyone here knows who we are and what we've been doing for the past six years," Luke said when he finally managed to get in a word. A hint of fear showed on Mara's face as she considered this.

"Not exactly," Marcus replied as he punched in an access code to open the doors of two adjoining apartments. "I obviously do…and so does Mr. Garibaldi, I'm nearly sure of it. The captain and the commander have at least a vague idea – I think you have to if you were raised on Earth – but I'm not sure about Stephen at all…" The second door whooshed open as he added, "The Ambassadors – including Delenn – just don't have enough background in Human culture to make the connection, even if they had seen the films." He handed over ID and access cards to the pair. Mara took hers and stalked into her room. The door closed quietly behind her. Marcus was sympathetic – he wasn't sure how he'd react to someone knowing his life's story as if it were fiction, either. Especially if it was as…colorful…as hers was.

Luke, however, hovered nearby, gazing speculatively at the Ranger. Finally, he said, "Films? Plural?" 

"A grand total of six by the time Lucas died," Marcus replied cheerfully. Then he gave a small, formal Minbari bow and took off down the corridor before the Jedi Master could think of any more questions. Luke stood there for a few minutes, staring down the hall after him, before finally entering his rooms.

^ ^ ^

Lando Calrissian was bored. He had analyzed the Babcom system, searched through the (empty) cupboards, and paced the room six times, and he was getting cabin fever. 

So he called up a map of the station and headed down to someplace he was certain would be familiar – the casino.

It was called the Darkstar, and it had the smoky, slightly wild ambiance that he associated with a quality bar. It was packed with Humans and aliens – some he'd seen before, in the form of the Ambassadors, and many more he hadn't.

Over at a table halfway across the room, he saw a man he dubiously identified as the Centauri ambassador. In hopes of leeching off a drink, and possibly even having a conversation, he headed in that direction. By the time he got within ten yards of the ambassador, he could hear him talking to the waitress – undoubtedly drunk.

"You should have seen it!" he was saying to the rather scantily-clad girl, who looked like she was well used to this kind of situation. "The looks on their faces! I tell you, I do not know what it is about these newcomers that so surprised the captain, but I shall find out, yes?" Then he seemed to catch sight of Lando. "Aaaah, and here is one of these good men himself!" exclaimed Mollari.

"Lando Calrissian," he introduced himself, with a nod to the ambassador and a kiss on the hand of the waitress.

Mollari laughed loudly and with vigor. "You see? Lando and Londo – the perfect companions." Still laughing, he gestured to Calrissian to sit down.

Still smiling nervously, Lando sat down as Mollari ordered his drinks – "And an extra one for my dear friend Mr. Calrissian here!" Londo was still chuckling a bit as he handed a drink across the table to the dark-skinned smuggler. "So, what is it that brings you down to the darker side of Babylon 5 so soon, Mr. Calrissian?" 

"Oh, nothing much," Lando replied casually. "I was feeling a bit cooped up in my quarters, so I thought I'd come down here and have a look around. And besides, I'm a bit of a gambler myself. I thought I'd pick up some rumors over the gaming tables."

"Oh, no need to waste your money on them," Londo proclaimed with a wave of disdain. "I can tell you anything you need to know…thank you, my dear, you're a godsend." The last was directed to the waitress, who had arrived with a fresh wave of drinks. "Now, what is it you need to know, eh?" he asked, looking seriously at Lando and actually appearing a bit more sober.

Lando approached the topic cautiously, not sure what the ambassador's reaction would be. "When we met the captain this afternoon, Ambassador G'Kar mentioned something about a war?"

Londo reacted quickly; perhaps a bit too quickly, Calrissian thought. "A war? Oh, no, my good man, not quite a war…you must understand, G'Kar, while good at heart, is a Narn, and rather prone to exaggeration. No, it is not a war. Say, rather…a conflict of interests. Pay it no mind; it will be over with before you know it."

Lando nodded, but he was unwilling to take this statement at face value. "Still…this place seems to be locked up pretty tight for just a 'conflict of interests'. I'm no expert on starships, but I saw at least four out there that could be battle cruisers."

"Ah, yes," Londo nodded, taking on a more casual tone. "That would be the Humans' conflict…Earth internal affairs. It's none of my business."

"What kind of internal affairs involve fitting out a space station for war?" Lando asked incredulously.

The ambassador glanced around as if to dispense with worries of eavesdroppers, then leaned across the table and whispered confidentially, "Civil war." Lando gave him a surprised look that wasn't all acting and Mollari leaned back in his chair, nodding emphatically as he took another drink. "Yes, it is! Rumor has it that their current President had arranged for the assassination of his predecessor! Now, Captain Sheridan, being the noble and heroic fellow that he is" – the Centauri said this with just enough sarcasm to elicit a grin from his drinking partner – "decided that Babylon 5 just wouldn't put up with it. And now, here they are – practically a full-fledged civil war! Personally," he added, once again leaning over the table in a conspiratorial manner, "I don't think it looks good for the President." Londo finished with a chuckle, and soon both men were laughing.

"But come, I have heard nothing about you," Londo said when they had calmed down and confiscated fresh drinks. "You mentioned that you are a gambling man?" When Lando nodded, he continued, "Good. I believe there is a poker table around that way…do you play poker where you come from?"

"Actually, no," Lando answered, relieved to finally get a word in. "Around Corellia we play a game called Sabacc…"

"That is not something I have heard of before. Could you be so kind as to explain…"

The rest of the evening was spent with an exchange of credits between Lando and Londo, because none of Calrissian's credits were negotiable on B5. When the two finally staggered back to their quarters, Calrissian was a hundred credits and a few pieces of information richer, and Mollari was convinced that the visiting party would have no reason to concern themselves again with the Shadows – or their allies.

^ ^ ^

Leia glanced across the room at the dark-skinned gambler collapsed on the sofa in the outer room of the quarters she and Han were sharing. Lando had spent the night "getting acquainted with the casino", and was obviously more than a little worse for the wear.

"Why did you have to get me up so early?" Lando demanded, leaning on the sofa arm and holding his head in his hand. "I've got the Emperor's own headache…those Centauri drink some damned strong stuff…"

Just then the doorbell beeped, and Lando moaned as the sharp tones rang through the apartment. The door opened, and Luke and Mara entered. "All right, Leia, we're here," her brother said. "What was it you wanted to discuss?"

"I thought we might want to make some plans," she said, gesturing them toward seats. Han also emerged from the kitchen and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Lando. "After all, we don't even know how we managed to come here, much less how we're going to get home, or what to do in the meantime. And we have very little information about the situation here – it's obvious that something is going on."

"Lando talked to that Centauri ambassador last night," Han broke in, "but…" They all looked over at Lando, who was slumped over in his corner of the couch, muttering incoherently. Luke focused his attention in that direction for a moment, and suddenly Lando sat up – his hangover, if not gone, at least seriously reduced in intensity.

"Don't do that again," he insisted in an irritated tone of voice. "If I want to be saved from my self-inflicted misery, I'll ask." Luke had only time enough to give an apologetic shrug before Leia continued.

"What _did_ the Centauri ambassador say about the situation, Lando?" she asked.

Lando relayed the details of his conversation with Ambassador Mollari as best he could. Leia was the only one who seemed disturbed about Mollari's opinion of his people's conflict with the Narns; the Earthers' situation seemed much more immediate. But there was something that just didn't ring true about his attitude…

"Leia?" Luke's voice brought her out of her reverie. 

"Yes? What? I'm sorry; I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention," she replied sheepishly. 

"We were discussing what to do about our…situation," Luke said. "And I still think that as long as we're here, we might as well do something to help. We can't…"

"Yes, we can," Mara objected. "Ethics are all well and good, but not when they get you killed." Han was nodding his head in emphatic agreement. "We're not going to get anywhere just sitting around here; we need to concentrate on getting home." Luke frowned and began to object, but Leia cut him off.

"Much as I don't like it, I have to agree. It's a regrettable situation, and I empathize with the crew here, but it's really none of our business." Luke nodded reluctantly, unwilling to argue with his sister when she set her mind to something. 

Lando spoke up again for the first time in twenty minutes. "Well, if that's all settled then, I think I'll go back to my quarters and take a nap," he announced, shooting a murderous glance at Luke as he rose to leave. Luke tried to look innocent.

Leia leaned back in her chair with a sigh as the others also took their leave. Eventually, even Han left her alone with her thoughts. It had been a tiring few days, and though she was finally presented with time to relax, she found it nearly impossible. Lando's description of the Centauri ambassador worried her, and despite her insistence to Luke that they must stay out of it, so did the Earthers' civil war. She was used to analyzing half-truths, having been involved with the Imperial Senate and then the New Republic, and she had the sneaking suspicion that there was more to both of the conflicts than they had been told. She was still uncertain, though, as to whether it was any of her business at all.

^ ^ ^

Londo Mollari, too, was moving about early for a man with a hangover. His was not nearly as bad as Lando's, however, so he saw no reason not to take advantage of the fact that Lord Refa had once again appeared on station. A little research showed that he had arrived mere hours after the outlanders – Londo was not convinced that this was a coincidence.

It was approximately 10:15 Earth Standard time when the bell of Londo's apartments rang. "Come," he called, moving around the bar to greet his guest. Refa looked the same as he had at their last meeting – thin, pale, and insufferably smug. Londo had to fight to ignore the self-satisfied look on the face of the man long enough to offer him a seat and a drink before getting down to business.

They settled down in the plush chairs of the common area of the ambassador's quarters, glasses of brivari in hand. Londo wasted no time with pleasantries. "It is interesting to see you back on Babylon 5, Lord Refa. I had not thought you would return so quickly."

Refa merely shrugged and looked back at him with a calm, collected gaze. "I travel here for the same reason that you visit Homeworld from time to time – I have personal business."

"Ah…yes, I'm sure," Londo replied. "And would that personal business have anything to do with the ship full of outlanders – from another galaxy, or so they claim – that arrived here just before you did?" 

"Ridiculous," Refa replied quickly. "I know nothing more of these outlanders than does every gossip on the station."

"Oh, really," Londo said, "And if you know nothing of them, perhaps you could provide some other explanation for their somewhat excessive interest in our recent activities concerning both the Narns and our interactions with Mr. Morden?" Refa looked startled, and Londo knew he had hit upon the explanation he'd been searching for. "Well, Lord Refa?" He poured as much sarcasm and disdain as he could into those last words.

Refa answered slowly, as if analyzing the information as he revealed it. "Around six weeks ago, Centauri Prime was contacted by a warship of completely unfamiliar design, which also claimed to be from another galaxy. Her commander, Grand Admiral Feroon, claimed he was a representative of a powerful Empire and offered the Republic considerable shares in his galaxy in return for our help in expanding into this one." Refa shrugged, a slightly vacant look on his face. "It seemed a…reasonable proposition."

"Reasonable?" Londo's tone was incredulous. "To deal with not only one unknown power, but with two!...Cartagia is more of a fool than I had thought." Sighing and shaking his head, he got up and moved over to the bar, where he lifted a bottle of brivari and gestured in Refa's direction. "Would you care for another drink?"

Refa started to accept, but suddenly remembered the last conversation he'd had with Londo. _"The poison is administered in two parts. When the second part enters your bloodstream, the two meet, and they have a little party in your cardiovascular system…"_ Refa shook his head. "No…no, I think not. I must return to Centauri Prime, to discuss this with Cartagia and the Grand Admiral. I am sure they will be grateful for your information." Still slightly flustered, Refa collected himself and took his leave.

Londo stayed where he was, leaning against the bar and wondering what his people had gotten themselves into this time.

^ ^ ^

"Blue Sector is mostly commercial activity – shops, traders, the Zocalo – and station control," Sheridan was saying as he led a little tour group consisting of Leia Organa-Solo, her husband, Luke Skywalker, and Mara Jade around the station. Calrissian was apparently being unsociable, and the group had decided that Chewbacca and the droids would attract too much attention for them to be wandering around freely. Sheridan was enjoying the opportunity to show off his station, though, especially since they had not the preconceptions that bothered the usual visitors. 

Just then, his link beeped, and he sighed in exasperation as he answered it. "Sheridan, go."

"Captain, we're having some trouble with the jumpgate again," Ivanova's voice answered. "You may want to come down and check it out."

"Sure, I'll be right there," he answered. He turned to the outlanders with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about this…" he started to answer, but Han interrupted him.

"That's all right – it's probably our fault in the first place. Who knows what we did to the thing when we came through."

"Oh, I doubt it," Sheridan said reassuringly. "We have trouble with that jumpgate all the time…it's probably nothing." He wasn't so sure, but he didn't want to place any blame on the visitors. "But I still ought to see what's going on…jumpgate disruption could throw off our whole support system right now. I suppose I'll see you all later." He shook hands all round and headed off to C&C.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked as he stepped through the door and into the lower gravity command dome.

"It doesn't _seem_ like any of the usual problems," Ivanova replied. "It's doing the same thing it did yesterday when that…ship…showed up, but nothing has…"

"Commander! Four vessels coming through the jumpgate. Unknown silhouette, but they look almost like starfuries," the lieutenant finished in a confused voice.

"What? Ships that size don't have hyperspace capabilities on their own," Ivanova protested. "Are we getting any signal from them?"

"Nothing, not even inter-ship chatter."

"Well, why the hell not?"

"Because their squad frequency is set much lower than you're scanning for," said a new voice behind them. The captain and commander turned in surprise, only to see Luke Skywalker standing in the doorway of C&C. "They're New Republic X-Wings," he continued, moving into the forward part of the dome when no one objected, "and from the markings on the leader, that's Wedge Antilles." He frowned. "That's not a full squadron, though; I couldn't tell you who else is with him."

"Commander, we're being hailed," the lieutenant spoke up.

"Let me hear it," Ivanova answered.

The comm system crackled for a moment, and then a vaguely familiar voice that Sheridan assumed belonged to Wedge Antilles came through. "Station, this is General Wedge Antilles and fighter group of the New Republic Navy. Anybody home?"

"Acknowledged, General Antilles, this is Babylon Control. Hang on a minute and we'll get you landing instructions." She nodded to the lieutenant, who began transmitting the clearance codes.

"Thanks, Babylon Control," the general replied. Sheridan thought he sounded confused; probably he was wondering why they'd let him through without challenging him. Well, he'd understand when he saw who else had arrived lately…

"Master Skywalker – I think that the general and his people might feel more comfortable if they were greeted by a familiar face. If you could come…"

"Bay Six," Ivanova supplied without looking up from her console.

"Of course," Luke replied. "I'd like to see whom Wedge is traveling with these days," he added with a grin.

As they continued down the corridor towards the docking bays, Sheridan reflected that this made for the second day this week that he was welcoming to his station people who weren't technically supposed to exist. He resigned himself to the idea – and resolved to have a discussion with Kosh about it as soon as possible.


	3. Part 3

Pellaeon straightened his jacket nervously, studying the door to the conference room. The Centauri guards on either side stared impassively ahead, but the Admiral still had the impression of them staring at him. He did not like it.

He did not like anything about this meeting. In the two days since their last conference, Mr. Morden had apparently spoken to his superiors – and as a result, had grown even more paranoid. Morden had insisted that Pellaeon meet with him alone, and this time on the Centauri ship. Grand Admiral Feroon had decided that this would imply a certain amount of trust in the Centauri and their allies on his part, and had agreed.

Pellaeon shook himself out of his reverie, gathered his courage, and shoved open the door. The room inside was darker than he was used to, and very bare. Mr. Morden sat at a large round table in the center of the room that had only one other chair. Four Centauri guards stood in the corners of the room, half-obscured by shadows; Pellaeon ignored them. "Mr. Morden," he said cordially.

"Admiral Pellaeon," Morden replied, displaying his now familiar grin. "Please, have a seat."

Pellaeon moved to the chair and sat down, not once taking his eyes off his companion. "May I ask the reason for all this…caution?" he asked, gesturing slightly towards the guards and the darkened corners. 

"But of course," Morden said, leaning back in his chair. "You and I are both reasonable men, Admiral. We both know what we want…and I think we both know how you will have to go about getting it."

Pellaeon did not fail to notice the sudden switch from "we" to "you". "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think that's fairly obvious," Morden replied, straightening. "Babylon 5 has been making a point of their sovereignty over the region; you're going to have to start with them." 

"We?" Pellaeon hoped that his nervousness didn't show in his voice.

"With the help of the Centauri government, of course," Morden added quickly. "And my…associates." But he was still smiling his slow, confident smile, and Pellaeon suddenly had a very bad feeling about all this.

  
**  


The Zocalo was its usual caphonocy of sounds, smells, and people as Mara Jade moved through the central aisle. Small, colorful shops and stalls dotted the corridor, leaving only narrow paths through to the larger shops – mostly finer restaraunts and bars – behind them. People dressed in all manner of colorful costume bought, sold, and haggled; aliens mingled with them in an almost equal mix.

Almost as overpowering as the sounds were the smells. Fruit stalls sent out the sweet scents of citrus; other shops burned incense in their windows. A new-clothes smell pervaded the many clothing stalls. And the smell of food invaded everything. Restaurants, bars, and cafés abounded, selling consumables suited to nearly every kind of biology – except, Mara had heard, for the Pak'ma'ra. 

A small café, similar to ones she had seen on Coruscant, caught her eye, and mild hunger pangs convinced her to stop and sit. A cheerfully smiling waitress came up and offered the special, and Mara mumbled something that could be heard as acceptance. A few minutes later, the girl returned with a cup of something that smelled like caff and a plate of small blue cubes. Mara looked skeptically at the blue stuff and took a sip of the caff – not as good as she was used to – and went back to people-watching.

Today was the first day she had had the time – or the inclination – to wander about the station on her own, and she was seeing more of the alien races than she had ever expected. The reign of the Empire had severely decreased the number of nonhumans that mingled freely with the humans; this had changed with the defeat of the Empire, but it was still nothing like what went on at Babylon 5. Mara knew that she was now in what was probably a totally different universe, but some of the differences still surprised her.

Suddenly she caught sight of a pair of humans that she recognized and ducked her head, hoping to avoid their notice. It was to no avail – they had seen her, and were already heading in her direction.

Wedge Antilles and Wes Janson were two of the X-Wing pilots that had arrived on station two days ago. The others, Colonel Celchu and Major Derek Klivian, whom the others called Hobbie, weren't as sociable as the general and his companion, and Mara could only wish that these two would keep to their quarters as much.

"Miss Jade," Janson exclaimed, "How lovely to see you. May we join you?" he asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down. Wedge caught her eye and shrugged in a "What can you do?" gesture as he too sat.

"Go right ahead," Mara murmured dryly, but she doubted he'd heard her; his attention had turned to the young waitress.

Mara resigned herself to the pilots' company and decided to make conversation. "I haven't had the chance to talk to you yet – how did the four of you end up here?" 

Wedge shrugged noncommittally. "Probably the same way you did. We were heading back to Coruscant from Adumar when we hit something like an Interdictor field and got pulled through that jumpgate...thing," he finished, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the gate.

The name of the planet struck a chord in Mara's memory, and she frowned. "Why were you on Adumar?"

The waitress had left in only just enough time for Janson to catch her question and slip into the conversation. "Risking life and limb, heart and spirit, for those poor, darling, pilot-worshipping, fashion-conscious fellows," he proclaimed dramatically, gesturing with his water glass. A few passersby turned to look at them oddly, but the dark-haired pilot ignored them.

"Also known as playing diplomat," Wedge added with a dry grin. He didn't look as though he'd enjoyed the experience much.

"That's right, they hold pilots in high regard there…I'm sure that was entertaining," Mara said with a smirk. "How many young idiot honor-seekers tried to gun you down?"

"Five before we even landed," Wedge said wearily. "It only got worse from there. At least they don't do anything like that here…I hope…"

Mara almost smiled, then shrugged noncommittally as she took a sip of the bad caff. Every time she was about to relax, she remembered that these were Rogue Squadron pilots, who had flown against the Empire in engagements she had also been a part of – on the other side. Being legitimate was still taking some getting used to. "Shouldn't you be playing diplomat here too?" she asked to cover up her sudden discomfort. "You are the General, after all."

Wedge shrugged. "One of many, now. And that's much more Tycho's sort of thing. Besides, someone needed to take care of Janson, and I just didn't think Hobbie could handle it," he added with a grin.

"And so we've been hanging around, trying to absorb some of the culture. We thought we'd try the food," said Janson. Then he looked down at the little blue cubes on his plate. He tentatively picked up a fork and poked at one. It jiggled. "Speaking of…what is this stuff?"

"I'm not really sure," Mara replied, looking down at her own plate. "They call it 'spoo'. It's supposed to be some kind of delicacy or something." 

Janson shook his head at it. "That's just not edible. I refuse to eat something that wiggles."

Once again Mara found herself smiling, despite her determination not to humor these guys. Suddenly her grin disappeared and she snapped to attention as her danger sense flared. Something was going on…outside?… 

Mara jumped to her feet, trying to make her way to the lift tubes as quickly as possible. The pilots came up behind her only moments later. Wedge grabbed her arm. "Mara? Are you all right? What's wrong?" 

"I didn't think our conversation was that bad," Janson grumbled. 

Mara shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and continued to move toward the lifts. "I can feel something strange - like that telepath, Alexander, but not quite. And my danger sense - I think something's trying to attack the station." 

Just then the warning klaxon went off, and red lights began to flash as a calm voice on the loudspeakers began to advise people not to panic and to return to their quarters immediately. The crowd, predictably, panicked. 

"I'd say that's a safe bet," Wedge observed drily.

The trio continued to head towards the lifts, now trying to beat the throng there instead of fighting them. 

Suddenly a security guard reached out and grabbed Janson's arm. "Hey, buddy, calm down, we'll get everybody out. Wait your turn." 

Wedge and Mara stopped too, and began to object, but before they could get out more than a few words, they were interrupted. Mara turned around to find the security chief, Garibaldi, standing behind them. "It's all right, Montoya, they're with the outlanders," he was saying. Then, to the pilots, "Captain called down a minute ago; they want you in your ships and out there fighting those guys. It looks more like your field than ours out there." To Mara, he added, "You, they want in the war room." Mara nodded brusquely and they all made for the lift that had been blocked off for security access.

  
**  


Grand Admiral Feroon stood in the war room, hands clasped behind his back, gazing calmly out the front viewscreen towards Babylon 5. Two squadrons of TIEs – one of standard fighters and one of bombers – had already been launched and caused some minor damage to the station before the opposing squadrons had been launched. He seemed quite confident about the operation.

Admiral Pellaeon was less sure, but his commanding officer's presence prevented him from arguing with Mr. Morden and the others as he otherwise might have. Babylon 5's defenses were solid and well-maintained, as the dark Human must have known, and Pellaeon was uncertain as to the goal of this operation. Fortunately, he was saved from having to incur the wrath of the Grand Admiral by the little Centauri lord.

"Are you certain that this is a wise move, Mr. Morden?" Lord Refa asked. "Babylon 5 is no longer bound by our non-aggression treaty. If they somehow discover the Centauri involvement in this…"

"It won't be a problem," Morden said calmly, displaying his now-familiar smile that still made Pellaeon shudder. "They have no telepaths with the strength to…" Suddenly his smile faltered, and for a moment his face was a mask of shock and almost panic. Then he was composed again, just as a shout came back from Navigation.

"Incoming fighters: six Starfury silhouettes, four X-Wings."

Admiral Feroon whipped around to glare at the officer. "Are you sure about the X-Wings?"

"Absolutely, sir," the man answered, slightly cowed, and gestured to the viewscreen.

"Launch the last TIE squadron," called Pellaeon, who had moved over to see the viewscreen for himself.

"Are you sure…" Refa started to ask, but Pellaeon cut him off.

"Those X-Wings have Rogue Squadron markings. I will not risk my ship to Rogue Squadron pilots – even only four of them." The Admiral glared viciously, and Refa backed away a little. Then Pellaeon turned and ended up face-to-face with the Grand Admiral's stare. His face held no expression, but Pellaeon knew these men's manners well enough to fear that more than any look of anger. Pellaeon did not back down. He had stood up to Thrawn, and he could stand up to Feroon. After a few moments, Feroon turned back to Refa and Morden. His nod of approval was only barely visible.

Refa refused to meet his gaze now, and Pellaeon just couldn't feel sorry about it. The Centauri had come to be little more than excess baggage, and Pellaeon would have wished to be rid of him entirely were it not so reassuring to know that he was not the only one made nervous by Mr. Morden's presence. Not that Morden looked particularly intimidating at the moment – normally very composed, his expression was now desperate, almost panicked. When he saw that he once again had the admiral's full attention, Morden said, "Are the Centauri telepaths still on board?" Pellaeon nodded, confused, and Morden breathed what could have been a sigh of relief. "Tell them to start the attack. They'll know what you mean," he added before Pellaeon could even begin to protest.

Pellaeon cast about for an officer to relay the order, but, finding no one with a moment to spare, strode over to the communications console to do it himself. By the time he returned to weapons control, the battle was very nearly over. He had not really expected otherwise. He watched in despair and disgust as the Starfuries and X-Wings disposed of the rest of his TIEs, then turned to Feroon. "Grand Admiral, it appears that we have lost this round. It would be in our best interests to gather up whatever we may have left and make a dignified retreat."

Feroon nodded, still gazing thoughtfully out the front viewscreen. "See to it, Admiral." 

Pellaeon nodded, and set off to take care of it, deliberately trying to ignore both his superior's sudden thoughtfulness and the nervous glances Morden continued to throw at Babylon 5. 

  
**  


Captain Sheridan's office hummed quietly with the buzz of several conversations as they waited for the captain and commander to return from C&C. Garibaldi was interrogating Wedge Antilles about the space battle that had finished barely an hour ago. Leia and Han were discussing the Imperial fleet with Ambassador Delenn. Mara was collapsed on the couch, trying not to talk to Lando, and Luke had abandoned the entire situation and gone into a light meditation. Amazingly, however, silence fell quickly when the captain entered. 

Instead of sitting behind his desk, he circled behind the group and sat casually on the sofa next to Delenn. Luke slipped out of his meditative state as Sheridan began to speak.

"First off, I want to thank both of you," he said, nodding to Luke and Mara, "for your help in the attack. I know it's impossible to tell if it had any real effect on the enemy…"

"I'm sure it did," Mara interjected. "Imperials do not normally retreat that quickly."

Sheridan accepted her comment with another nod. "Well, regardless, it was much appreciated."

"It was the least we could do," Luke replied. "Especially when we noticed an opposing force…those would have been telepaths?"

Sheridan nodded in affirmation. "While human telepaths are forbidden from entering the military, none of the other races have those kinds of restrictions. They were probably Centauri." 

Mara was shaking her head vaguely, and attention turned to her when she began to speak. "I think there must have been something else, too. This felt different – and more than could be accounted for than just a different species. It reminded me a little of the Emperor – especially when he was working. I'd almost say it reminds me of the Dark Side." She glanced at both Sheridan and Delenn, a glance that demanded answers. The command staff exchanged significant looks, as if to say, this is what we were afraid of.

Le

ia wasn't the only one to catch the look, but she was the first to respond. "Well, it's obvious now what we're dealing with. I don't want to speak for everyone, but I think they'll all agree with me when I say we now have a vested interest in this confrontation." This elicited a nod from the rest of her group, and she continued quickly. "But I'm sure I'll speak for all of us when I say that if we agree to continue to fight on your side, we need to know what we're up against. It's obvious now that this is about more than Centauri policy."

The worried gaze swept the room again, and this time settled on Delenn and Sheridan. The Minbari woman took a deep breath, glanced briefly at her companion, and began to explain.

"The last great war was a thousand years ago, when my people were attacked by a race far older than our own. We had no name for them, but the Vorlons called them Shadows…"

  
**  


Marcus was wandering the hallways of Babylon 5, ostentiably checking for any damage that may have been inflicted in the fight, but really using the opportunity as an excuse to avoid the meeting, when he heard a distinct roar coming from a corridor to the right. Curious, he turned in that direction and, as he had expected, discovered a Wookiee and two droids in the middle of Blue 12. He had to stifle a smile when he overheard the only part of the conversation he could understand.

"Oh, I knew it Artoo, I knew we were going to get lost up here, wandering around in some unfamiliar space station! Why I follow you anywhere is really beyond my understanding." He shuffled about the corridor a bit, a gesture that would have been pacing in someone with slightly more flexible joints, and moaned to himself. "Oh, oh, what are we going to do now?…" At a low comment from Chewie, he snapped back, "Oh, keep quiet, you. What do Wookiees know about such things anyway? Oh…oh…" He'd gone back to shuffling and moaning when Marcus decided that perhaps he should enter into the conversation.

"Hello, you appear to be having a spot of trouble. Could I be of some help?" Threepio turned suddenly at the sound of his voice, then raised his arms in relief when he realized who it was.

"Oh, Master Cole, it is so good to encounter you here! You see, my counterpart here," – and here, Marcus supposed, he would have given Artoo a disparaging glance, had he been able – "appears to have gotten us lost. His pitiful attempts at navigation…" Artoo bleeped at him irritatedly, and Threepio shot back a string of insults in several incomprehensible languages.

Marcus blinked when he suddenly realized that one of the languages was not, in fact, incomprehensible. As he began to lead the two droids and the Wookiee back towards their quarters in Red Sector, he decided to comment on it. "You've been spending time with the local datanet system, of course?"

Threepio brightened immediately. "Oh, yes. I have made an attempt to study all of the languages and cultures of this world while I can. I have downloaded hundreds of new language files." Somehow, inexplicably, his face fell. "Many of them are incomplete, however. I have been trying to study the Minbari language, as a gesture of respect to the ambassador who is so kindly offering her help, but…"

"Minbari?" Marcus said, pleased to find the conversation had already turned to the topic he had intended. "As a matter of fact, I learned much of their language during my training on Minbar. Perhaps I could be of some help once again." He was extremely curious to see what the interpreter droid could have made of the difficult language in such a short time.

"Oh…I…well, I suppose…" The droid thought for a few moments, then said, "Ouan trak shoua lar lochmar." He looked expectantly at Marcus. "I'm afraid I'm really not sure at all how much is missing from the database…"

"That's…that's all right," Marcus managed, trying to keep from laughing. He was definitely going to have a talk with Delenn about updating the Minbari language files. No one had used them in so long that they probably hadn't been reviewed in decades. "I, um, think the word you're looking for is 'locmer'," he said once he was sure he wouldn't collapse in laughter.

"Locmer?"

"Yes. Emphasis on the second syllable." They had reached the quarters in Red Sector, and Artoo beeped cheerfully as he opened the door.

"Thank you again, Master Cole, for so kindly…"

"It was no problem," Marus cut off the droid quickly before he could really get started. "My pleasure actually. I'll be certain to talk to the ambassador about those language files."

"Oh…yes…thank you," Threepio said faintly as Marcus began to return down the corridor. The Ranger almost felt bad about cutting him off so abruptly, but then, he reminded himself, he would likely have felt much worse breaking out in laughter.

He stifled another chuckle as he reflected that he probably did have something in his quarters to help update the language files. It was an honest mistake, really. Though whose idea it was to make the Minbari word for "brothel" so close to that for "restroom", he really didn't know. Perhaps he should talk to Lennier about it.

Marcus smirked as he rounded the corner back into the Zocalo, which had returned to some semblance of normality. Yes, that was exactly what he would do. 

  
**  


Mr. Morden's quarters aboard the Black Jewel were bare, with only the standard bed, chair, and table as furnishings. Nothing else had been brought into the room, no clothes, no luggage, no personal items save for one thing – a small black candle in a small brass candleholder. Although the taper couldn't have been more than an inch tall when it had been lit, it had been burning steadily for several hours, and showed no signs of burning out. The flame danced silently in the slight breeze of the air reclamation system, and the shadows it couldn't quite dispel danced eerily through the corners and over the face of the man who watched it.

Lieutenant Niel Corsam had been assigned to keep an eye on Morden, a long, boring job that required little more than sitting in the security office watching a vid screen. In fact, it hardly required that much, as the dark human hadn't moved from his spot in the chair since he'd lit the candle. Fortunately, his shift was nearly over, and in a little under an hour another unfortunate Imperial soldier would be sitting around, watching Morden do nothing. Hardly the glory he'd dreamed of when he'd joined the Empire.

A hissing, chittering noise came over the system from Morden's room then, and Corsam moved to fix the tuning, but before he could touch the controls, Morden's voice came through, crystal-clear. "I still don't think we have anything to worry about. This attack was really only intended to let them know we're here. The result is irrelevant."

Corsam squinted at the screen, fiddled with some controls. There was certainly no one in the room for Morden to be talking to. And Corsam had been assured that this Morden guy wasn't a Jedi, or one of those telepaths that they had here. Besides, wasn't the whole point of telepaths that they spoke silently?

"The losses are also irrelevant," Morden was saying. "These Imperial pilots, however good they are, won't do us any benefit in the long run. It's the Grand Admiral who can help us, not his ships."

The chittering had returned, louder and more forceful. It appeared to mean something to Morden, who dismissed whatever had been said with a shake of his head. "These stories about Sheridan being the 'One' are certainly just that – stories. Whatever power he may have comes from the Vorlon. We need not be concerned."

The chittering noises grew, and Corsam had to turn down the volume on the screen. Morden's face took on a hint of fear and his eyes roamed the shadowy corners of the room. Corsam would nearly have sworn he saw something moving in the shadows, but then it was gone and he couldn't be sure. "I'm sure he is," Morden was saying quickly, "I only meant that…" Suddenly the candle went out and Morden's voice halted just as abruptly. The chittering remained, though, low and quiet and somehow menacing.

When Corsam heard a groan of pain from the speaker, almost inaudible under the chittering, the quickly reached out and shut off the unit. His shift was nearly over, anyway; no one would notice or care, and he was fairly certain that Imperial soldiers needed nothing to do with whatever wsa going wrong in that room.


	4. Part 4

"Hey, Chief." Zack Allan announced himself as he entered the main security office. It looked quiet, for once, and Garibaldi had his feet up on the desk, reading reports.

"Zack. Going off-duty?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Actually, I thought I'd go for dinner...Pick up some pizza, maybe...or, uh..." He suddenly realized that Garibaldi wasn't really paying him any attention. He sighed. "Have you seen Lyta around?"

Garibaldi didn't look up from his papers. "Yeah, last I saw she was heading off to dinner with the Jedi."

"Oh. Right. See you later then."

"Yeah." Garibaldi looked up then, but Zack was gone.

**

"It sounds so...unbelievable," Lyta said to the calm young Jedi sitting across the table from her. "I mean - it's completely unheard of, around here."

Luke carefully used the Force to lower the salt shaker and various other table implements that he'd been using for a quick demonstration, and gave her a quizzical look. "Why is that? You've said telekinetics have been talked about for centuries, and it's obvious that a number of people here have heard of the Jedi."

"Well, in fiction, yes," Lyta answered, still looking in amazement at the napkin holder, "and in the twentieth century, _everyone_ thought they had some kind of psychic power. But..." She looked up, met disturbingly calm ice-blue eyes. "Well, you're certainly not a teek like our kind, and the Corps would probably kill to get their hands on such a powerful empath."

Luke frowned, interested. "You said I'm not a telepath by your standards - what standards are those? Do you know where the telepathic power of Humans and aliens comes from? Is it something in the DNA, some kind of..." he trailed off, realizing he must have said something wrong. Lyta had closed up on all levels, physical and psychic, and was refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I didn't mean..."

"It's all right," she said quickly, meeting his gaze again, but there was something dark there, some hint of old pains. The topic of conversation changed quickly, as telepath and Jedi continued their respective debriefings.

**

"Can I get you another drink?" Ambassador G'Kar sounded like he'd had quite a few already, Han thought, hiding his smile as he passed his glass across the table to the waiting Narn.

"Sure, why not?" Han had only had one drink to the ambassador's three; he normally wouldn't have bothered with that kind of restraint, but getting drunk while being entertained by a completely unknown alien ambassador didn't seem like a good idea, especially when Leia wasn't around to bail him out of any stupid comments he might make.

As it turned out, Han hadn't been doing much talking. Ambassador G'Kar hadn't invited Han to dinner just to be sociable; he had an agenda. Not five minutes into the conversation, after G'Kar had explained his theories on what he called both breen and Swedish meatballs and Han recognized as nerf in gravy, the ambassador had set off into a tirade about the war his people were waging against the Centauri. Han had tried to be noncommittal, knowing that there was no way he - or any of their group - could let themselves be dragged into this conflict, but considering G'Kar's dominating personality, apathy was becoming difficult.

He was at it again, now, even as he poured fresh drinks for them both. "And now," he exclaimed with fervor, "Now they expect us to simply lie down and take it! To accept their occupation and simply forget about the past hundred years of conflict!"

"Terrible," Han muttered in as much of a monotone as he could manage, gratefully picking up his drink.

"It is, it is," said G'Kar, sitting down across from Han and leaning forward in a conspirital manner. "Surely you see how just a few more ships, a few more supplies on our side could swing the balance and help us throw out the Centauri oppressors!"

This was what Han had been expecting to hear all afternoon. He tried to look shocked. "Now, wait a minute, Ambassador. I understand your position, and I sympathize, I really do, but there's just no way we can get involved in your situation..."

"But whyever not? Just a couple of ships, that's all I'm asking." G'Kar looked taken aback as well, but Han was pretty sure it was just the same kind of acting. He shook his head.

"Well, first off, I don't know if I could even get ships here - hell, we don't even know how we got here. Then we don't know if we could ever get them back. And most important -" he raised a finger, cutting off the ambassador's protests - "we have problems of our own, a Republic to get off the ground, and no one would ever forgive us if we got involved in something like this, in a totally different galaxy, no less. I'm sorry, Ambassador." He wasn't, really, but it had to be said. He'd learned something from Leia, after all.

G'Kar was shaking his head mournfully, though he didn't seem particularly surprised. "I do hope you'll reconsider."

"I doubt it." Han stood up, glancing at the door. "I really ought to be going."

"Of course, of course," G'Kar said, leading him to the door. "Thank you for your time, General Solo."

Han nodded politely, then, relieved, headed back towards what he was pretty sure was the direction of their quarters. He was quite disturbed at the fact that he had very nearly enjoyed arguing with the ambassador. Leia might make a politician out of me yet, he thought, suppressing a shudder.

**

Lord Refa fiddled nervously with his drink, uncertain if he dared take a sip. Not, of course, that it made any difference. Imperial Grand Admiral Feroon did not seem the sort to resort to such subtle methods as poison if he should decide he wanted someone dead. But then, it was the principle of the thing. Refa had been invited - summoned, rather - to a private meeting with the admiral, without Mr. Morden, without his Centauri guards, without even that disturbingly calm Admiral Pellaeon. It made him nervous.

"Surely you understand why I requested to see you here without Mr. Morden," Feroon said suddenly, diverting from whatever topic he had just been on, leaning forward over the table.

Refa blinked in surprise. Surely - but no, some of the others had told him that in their galaxy, there were no telepaths, except for the now-extinct and hated Jedi. Feroon must simply be a very perceptive man. Refa took a drink to steady his nerves. "I think I am beginning to see your purpose," he said cryptically. He saw no such thing, really, but he was hardly going to tell the imposing Grand Admiral that.

Feroon seemed to know anyway. "Mr. Morden and his - associates, does he call them? - the Shadows seem to have quite the monopoly of influence in the area," he began.

Refa frowned. "Not exactly. The Vorlons and the Minbari are still closely tied, and the Humans -"

Feroon waved a hand dismissively. "Insignificant. From the way things stand now, it is clear who the new power shall be in the galaxy." He paused to assure Refa's complete attention. "The Shadows."

"And the Centauri," Refa added.

Feroon shook his head slowly. "I do not think that that is in their plans," he said. "That, however, is where I believe I can help you. The Empire has great interest in expanding into other galaxies than our own, but we do not have the manpower to maintain the presence we would need. We would require your help."

"Indeed," said Refa, leaning forward a bit and setting down his drink. Perhaps he had no reason to be nervous after all. This meeting was beginning to look quite profitable.

**

Climatization, thought Leia. Wasn't that the word? The means through which one can get used to anything with enough exposure to it. Even, she thought, looking down at her plate, eating little cubes of blue…something. She couldn't quite bring herself to call it meat. The conversation was marginally better, if of predictable topic.

"I mean, obviously we need to be finding some way of getting back," Wedge was saying to Lando. "Thing is, when we don't even know how we got here -"

Han was being unusually quiet, focusing on his dubious lunch and not engaging in his usual good-natured arguments. It was the first time they had all been in the same place at the same time since they had arrived; Luke had suggested that they all get together. Even the droids were there, hovering on the edge of the group and bickering.

The topic on everyone's mind was, of course, home. Two weeks of this was just long enough to make them feel that they were overstaying their welcome, but at this point there didn't seem to be much in the way of options. Neither Han nor any of the fighter jocks knew anything about the jumpgates they had entered, and no one here knew anything about hyperdrive. Finding out how they had interacted was difficult at best. Luke had mentioned something about an Ambassador Kosh who might be of some help, but it had been in the middle of a long discussion on local telepaths, and Leia hadn't really followed.

All of the other ambassadors, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to help. The Minbari seemed genuinely interested, but nearly everyone else was taking the opportunity to advance their own interests.

"President Organa! How wonderful to meet you at last." Ambassador G'Kar, for example. Leia had to hide her exasperation with a polite smile. It just never stopped, wherever you went. 

"Ambassador," she said formally, extending a hand to shake. G'Kar raised it to his lips instead, bowing slightly over it. Han frowned in irritation.

"I had the most interesting conversation with General Solo yesterday," G'Kar began in earnest. "We were discussing -" he was cut off short by the loud conversation that had been struck up on the other side of the group.

"General Calrissian! How good to see you again; here, let me join you in a drink." The Centauri ambassador had, apparently, decided to press his advantage as well. Ambassador G'Kar looked thoroughly perturbed as Lando greeted Mollari with the same kind of excessive enthusiasm.

"Mollari!" yelled the Narn. "What is the meaning of this?"

Mollari had a truly excellent 'innocent' face; Leia was sure that he was a card player. "Whatever do you mean?" he responded. "I was merely stopping by to have a drink with friends -"

"Nonsense! You're taking the opportunity to spread that - that Centauri propaganda of yours! I know the way you work," he added, moving around the table and shaking a finger in Mollari's direction.

"How I work? _Centauri_ propaganda? It is the Narn who have been spreading vicious rumors - "

Han stood up quickly, placing himself directly between the quarrelling ambassadors. "Now, gentlemen," he said in a tone he usually reserved for appeasing angry Hutts, "if we could all just calm down a minute…"

"I refuse to calm down when presented with such ridiculous accusations," spluttered Ambassador G'Kar.

The argument showed no signs of actually slowing down, so Leia started to rise and see what she could do towards calming the ambassadors, when they were all interrupted by another voice.

"Is there a problem over here? Ambassadors, Mrs. President?" It was Garibaldi, the security chief. To Leia's surprise, the ambassadors stopped arguing as soon as they noticed Garibaldi, and her respect for the man rose several notches. She had been certain that nothing short of a collapse in the nuclear reactor was really going to stop those two.

"No problem," she said coolly when it became obvious that no one else was prepared to answer. "Only a bit of a…disagreement, I think."

Garibaldi nodded, amusement playing across his face as if he were all too aware of what had been going on. "Sorry to interrupt, then," he said, looking pointedly at G'Kar and Mollari. "You all have a nice day." He stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered off.

"I…eh…" Mollari said awkwardly, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "There is something that I must attend to. If you will excuse me," he said quickly, nodding to Lando and then to Leia before taking off in a direction opposite to Garibaldi's.

"I too have things that need my attention," G'Kar added quickly. He bowed sharply before disappearing through the crowd in yet another direction.

Leia shook her head in amusement as she settled back down in her seat. An explosive situation, indeed. The Narn and the Centauri alone seemed enough to destroy whole worlds.

"No one else even seems to have noticed," Luke said quietly, sounding as though he were trying not to laugh. It was true - life in the Zocalo had continued on as usual, without having paid any attention to the screaming ambassadors. "Worrying, isn't it? It makes you wonder how often they do this," he added with a little grin.

Leia could only nod.

**

Earhart's, the officers' bar, was named for the famous aviator from the 1930's and was thus decorated from that era. The music was almost always jazz and swing, to fit the theme, but occasionally bled into other 20th century genres. Tonight someone had decided to be funny, and there were John Williams scores playing. It fit the mood - the topic of discussion was the same at nearly every table.

"Well of course they have to get back to where they came from," Garibaldi was saying. "For one thing, the Narn and the Centauri are already all over them. But she's President of practically the entire galaxy -"

"Not a job I'd envy," Sheridan cut in.

"Granted," Garibaldi agreed. "And Skywalker there is the only remaining Jedi, and the rest are all decorated generals and such. So of course they have to get back. The only question is how."

Ivanova nodded thoughtfully. "There's all kinds of interesting readings in the gate logs from when they came through, but no one has any clue what they mean. I mean, if not for them being here, we'd just think they'd been miscalibrated."

"Has anyone spoken to Kosh?" asked Franklin. "If anyone would know about this, it'd be the Vorlons."

Sheridan grimaced. "Yeah, but could you get anything out of him? I mentioned it to him after the council meeting yesterday, and he just came back with one of the usual Koshisms."

Garibaldi put on his best straight-faced Vorlon impression. "Yes. No. The question does not precede the answer." He slumped back down in his chair and took a drink of his water. "He's like some nutty old Zen master sometimes. Makes you wonder what he's really doing here." The others all nodded in agreement.

After a brief silence, Ivanova said, "You know what I find strange about this whole situation - they've been here what, two weeks?"

Sheridan nodded. "Two weeks, three days."

"And there hasn't been a single report of Shadow activity in that time. Now granted, they've laid low longer than this before, but does it strike anyone else as strange that they've chosen this particular time to pull back?" She looked pointedly around the table, and there was a rather uncomfortable silence.

"Well, now that you mention it…" Franklin mused.

Sheridan shook his head. "You know, Susan, you have a really amazing knack for finding even more things to worry about."

"It's a Russian thing, sir," she said in mock seriousness, lifting her vodka in explanation.

**

Pellaeon stood at strict attention on the bridge, head held high, hands firmly clasped behind him, disapproval radiating from every pore. Feroon, as usual, took absolutely no notice, though Pellaeon was sure he was aware of it. Lord Refa, on the other hand, was looking increasingly nervous. The little Centauri had started out in a position similar to Pellaeon's but was by now beginning to pace a bit and fiddle with something in his vest pocket. It was beginning to get annoying.

They had been orbiting the planet opposite Babylon 5 for nearly a quarter of an hour while their fighters prepared for the attack. They were almost certainly ready now - they could be ready in less than three minutes, when necessary, but they liked to take some time when they could. A TIE fighter could frequently be an unstable thing. But yes, they should be ready by now. After receiving a nod from the Grand Admiral, Pellaeon turned and was about to give the order to move out when Refa finally spoke up.

"I am still not certain that this is the proper course of action," he said, visibly drawing himself up and taking a few paces forward.

Feroon turned around calmly, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "You feel, perhaps, that we of the Empire do not have the ability to win a victory in this situation?"

Refa's every motion froze immediately. "I merely wish to point out that no one has _ever_ won a victory against Babylon 5, and few have tried. They have many resources -"

"Irrelevant." Feroon waved a hand dismissively. "After all, we have the element of surprise, forces they are not used to dealing with…"

Refa still didn't look pleased. "I do not see how such an aggressive move is necessary," he muttered, half to himself.

Feroon turned back to the forward viewscreens, calmly folding his hands again. "We must assert our authority in the most visible way possible." Ridiculous, thought Pellaeon. Refa had obviously not grasped the significance of the X-Wings they had encountered earlier. There should be no X-Wings here; there should be nothing recognizable but the _Black Jewel_ and her fighters. Feroon had decided that they should be destroyed. Pellaeon felt that it would be wiser to find out first how they had gotten here before taking any drastic action.

"Admiral," Feroon called out.

But then, Feroon was the Grand Admiral. Pellaeon gave the order to break out of orbit and approach the station, uninterrupted this time. They were past the point of no return; the battle had begun.

**

"…so the shields are basically just an electromagnetic shell around the ship," Wedge finished, patting his X-Wing fondly. He and Commander Ivanova had decided to take the opportunity to examine each others' fighters, and they'd just come back from a practice run around the station.

Ivanova shook her head in disbelief. "But that shouldn't work. Earthgov has been experimenting with electromagnetic shielding systems like this for years, and they've never managed a workable prototype." Wedge was at a loss for a reply; he knew it worked, he knew how to do basic maintenance on it, but beyond that he was clueless.

He was rescued, if you could call it that, by the red alert sirens exploding into action. Only a few seconds later, Wes, Tycho, and Hobbie came barrelling into the docking bay, all of them mostly suited up. "Super Star Destroyer," gasped Wes as he lunged for his X-Wing.

"What?" Wedge replied, but he thrust his helmet on and leapt back into the cockpit of his own fighter. The commander had already made for the 'fury bays. It took Wedge only a few seconds to have his fighter ready to launch.

"Rogue Three, ready to go," came Tycho's voice through the comm.

"Rogue Four, online."

"Rogue Two, ready and willing."

Wedge settled a bit, his mind already switching over to that bizarre calm he always felt before battle. "Rogue Leader; let's go."

**

The four X-Wings came out of the bay at maximum speed, locking in S-foils as soon as they were clear. Just behind them, a starfury squadron swung out of their bays, lead by Ivanova's Russian star.

"Mynock, scan the area for fighters - that Star Destroyer probably has at least a few," Wedge called back to his astromech droid. The droid beeped in acknowledgement, and as he went to work, Wedge switched to the Rogue's comm frequency. "Rogues, make sure you set your targeting systems to recognize those Starfuries - we don't want to have to worry about friendly fire, too."

"On it," Janson called back. "Any chance of synching frequencies with them?"

"Rogue Two, this is Delta Leader," responded Ivanova, sounding amused. "We're with you."

"Great!" said Janson. "Now the party can start. Squadron of eyeballs, klick and a half away and closing. Got a plan, O fearless leader?"

"Sure," Wedge said, "shut up and get on 'em. We have them outnumbered, and besides," he added with a grin, "we're Rogues."

"Fabulous," Ivanova muttered, "is the whole squadron this cocky?" But the TIEs had gotten into range, and as the first laser bolts started to fly, no one bothered to answer her.

**

Everything seemed to be going well. The station was on full alert, and while they hadn't taken out any enemy fighters, they hadn't lost any either. Still, Pellaeon couldn't shake his concern. He was doing his best to keep the _Jewel_ out of direct combat, but he was nearing the point where he'd have to fight the Grand Admiral for it, and that wasn't something he wanted to do.

"Sir, the fighters have moved to the far side of the station," one of the bridge techs called out. Pellaeon opened his mouth to reaffirm the order to hold position, but Feroon got there first.

"Excellent," he said, "bring us in closer to the station and open fire, forward batteries." 

It took great force of will for Pellaeon to swallow his objections. Talking with one of the Centauri guards he had learned about the station's formidable firepower, and he was sure that they were only holding off until the _Jewel_ attacked directly. It may not be suicide going up against Babylon 5, but it was certainly close. It was…

"I don't really think that's a good idea," came Mr. Morden's voice from behind. Pellaeon and Feroon whipped around simultaneously, and the two Imperial officers glared at him. No one had seen or heard Morden enter the bridge, and yet here he was. He seemed to have an uncanny knack for entrances of the sort.

Pellaeon may have been shocked, but Feroon was furious. This on top of Refa's earlier objections seemed to be more than enough for him. "I was not aware that I was in a position to be questioned on my own bridge," he said in a deceptively quiet tone.

Morden chuckled softly, displaying his trademark grin. "I'm not questioning you, Grand Admiral. I merely don't think that attacking the station would be a good idea."

"And why is that?" Vader would have gone for a force choke by now, thought Pellaeon distractedly. He felt oddly distant from the confrontation, as if he were watching a fascinating explosion from a thousand miles away.

"Babylon 5 is an obstacle, but not yet an immediate threat," Morden explained. "As a matter of fact we find it quite useful for the time being. Destroying it would be in no one's best interests." That infuriating grin returned as soon as he stopped speaking. He paused for a moment, as if listening to something. "Now if you'll excuse me." He turned, stopped, turned back. "Lord Refa, if you would kindly join me," he said.

Refa looked entirely shocked. "I am not sure," he began, but was sharply cut off.

"Please." The smile was still there, and the tone was almost polite, but there was an iron note of command in Morden's voice. Refa glanced around nervously only once before following Morden off the bridge.

Feroon watched them leave silently, then turned back to the forward viewscreens. "Move in closer to the station and open fire," he ordered.

Pellaeon finally gave voice to his objections. "Grand Admiral, such an attack would almost certainly - " 

"The Empire does not take orders, implied or otherwise, from its rivals. Open. Fire."

With great trepidation, Pellaeon nodded to the navigation officer. Whatever came out of the battle, he had a bad feeling about this.

**

Wedge yanked on the flight stick, pulling his X-Wing up out of a dive and coming up behind a TIE. He opened fire, but the other fighter danced out of the way at the last second. "Damn," he muttered. "These guys are way too good." Tycho had finally gotten one a few moments before, but that had been the first score on either side. The TIEs were taking full advantage of the station as an obstacle, but hadn't opened fire on it just yet. Wedge had his suspicions as to why, and was keeping a close eye on the Star Destroyer whenever he could spare it.

He was glad he had been when it opened fire directly on Babylon 5, aiming at the Command & Control center. Before anyone could react, nevermind that there wasn't much productive that they could do to react, a series of blue bursts shot out from the station's defense grid, blocking the red glare of the Star Destroyer's shot and shattering it.

"Whoa," Wedge said in amazement. "So that's what 'interceptors' are for."

Ivanova laughed back over the comm. "Yep. No worries about the station; they can take care of themselves."

"I can see that," Wedge said with a grin. Finally able to stop worrying about the Star Destroyer, he swung his X-Wing around and joined a Starfury in chasing down a TIE that had gotten a little too close.

He was so intent on the chase that he didn't even notice the new addition to their party until he heard Tycho's astonished exclamation.

"What the Sith..."

That seemed to be a pretty apt description, actually. They didn't look like ships as much as giant space-dwelling spiders; their skins glistened like black crystals, and they moved like water over stones. They were almost beautiful, but terrifying. They screamed as they came up on the dogfight, a battle cry that echoed through Wedge's ship and almost made him clap his hands to his ears, as useless as that gesture would have been.

"Shadows!" Ivanova was shouting. "Pull back; stay out of their way!"

"What, and just let them - "

"Yes, and just let them!" she shot back. "There's nothing we can do about them, believe me."

The TIE Wedge had been chasing took the opportunity to break off and head towards the Star Destroyer, but it only made it a quarter of the way there before a bright beam leapt from the nearest Shadow ship, slicing the fighter neatly in half just before it exploded.

That was all the motivation the others needed. As the X-Wings and Starfuries clustered close to the station, the remaining TIE fighters made a desperate break for their Star Destroyer. The Shadows, though, were much faster than the Imperial ships, and continued to carve fighters off the edges of the formation until the initial squadron of thirteen was cut down to only five.

Just as the remaining TIEs reached the Star Destroyer, the jumpgate swirled open, colored orange for departure.

"What the hell is that?" snapped Ivanova, sounding furious and confused.

"I'm...not sure," came the voice of the young man from Command & Control. "We certainly didn't do it - can the Shadows do that?"

"Looks like," Ivanova replied grimly. "But what could they be trying to do?"

"I wonder..." muttered Wedge to himself. It was a long shot, but just maybe... "Babylon Control, what do the readings on that jumpgate look like?"

"Not normal," Control answered after a moment. "Actually, they look like - " he stopped, then continued, understanding. "They look like when all the Republic ships came through."

Wedge smiled grimly. He'd thought that was the case. In all probability, the Shadows had just opened them a portal straight back home. "You'd better call up the others - we don't know how long this thing is going to stay open, or if we could ever replicate it."

"On it."

"And keep that jumpgate open as long as you can," Ivanova added.

"On it, Commander," answered the long-suffering Control officer.

"Think we ought to start moving in towards the gate?" Janson asked after a moment.

Wedge shook his head. "Negative. Those Shadows don't seem to have noticed us yet, and I don't really want them to. We'll follow the Star Destroyer." Having collected its fighters, the massive vessel was moving toward the jumpgate. The Shadow ships hung back, but they turned to follow its progress, as though they were watching it.

A few moments later, the comm crackled and Han said, "All right, Wedge, we're all here and ready to go. Just give the word. And by the way - I hope to hell you're right about this."

Wedge grinned. "So do I, or we're gonna be in a lot of trouble. Hold on for a minute, though. I want to see if those Shadows are planning on sticking around."

Everyone watched tensely as the Star Destroyer vanished through the jumpgate, electricity crackling up and down the sides of the ship that might have been the result of B5 Control trying to keep the gate open, or might have been because of something else. Just as the aft end of the ship disappeared completely, the Shadow ships _wriggled_ slightly, their outlines fading, and disappeared.

"That's our cue," Wedge said, and the four X-Wings pulled away from the station and made for the jumpgate at top speed, the _Falcon_ just behind them.

The comm crackled one more time, and the voice of Captain Sheridan came across the line. "Good luck," he said. "It's been...interesting."

"That it has," answered Leia from the _Falcon_, laughing a bit. "Thank you for you hospitality, Captain."

"Any time," he replied, and he too sounded like he was laughing. "Any time."

Then they were entering the jumpgate, and Wedge tensed up, crossing his fingers and hoping that he had guessed right, that the gate would indeed take them home, and not to some Shadow stronghold. Then the blotchy red and black blurred, stretching into the old, familiar lines of hyperspace. Wedge allowed himself to relax at last; they were finally going home.

**

The observation room was silent save for the few mechanical noises of Kosh's encounter suit. Lyta had always wondered if those noises were really necessary, or if they were only there to put people at ease, to convince them that Vorlon technology was not, in fact, magic. At times like this, she rather suspected the latter.

Standing a respectful few paces behind her employer, she silently watched the _Millennium Falcon_ tear out of the docking bay and head for the jumpgate, only moments behind the enemy ship that had already vanished. It made the short journey in quick time, vanishing with barely a moment's pause into the hyperspace corridor that would - hopefully - take them home.

When the ship had vanished and the jumpgate collapsed, Kosh spoke without turning. "They have begun to learn."

Accustomed as she had become to the Vorlon ambassador's obscure tidbits of wisdom, Lyta couldn't stop herself from asking, "Learn what?"

"To fight legends," was all he said, turning back to the view of space. Lyta did the same, pondering Kosh's words. What did they mean? Could the Vorlons possibly have orchestrated all of this? It certainly looked like the Shadows had had a hand in it. The world, Lyta thought wryly, may never know.

_To fight legends._

It could, on the whole, have been worse.


End file.
